The Care & Keeping of Christmas Trees
by Covalent Bond
Summary: Fourteen days of fluff! Booth's little trip into the countryside to get a live Christmas tree doesn't go quite as planned ... probably because there was no plan in the first place.
1. Rule 1: You never go alone

**Author's Note:** The plan is to post one chapter every day for the next two weeks. Assuming my plan is better thought out than Booth's, the last chapter goes up on Valentine's Day.

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By now many of you know how wordy and angsty I can get. This began as a winter break experiment to see if I could produce 12 chapters that were short and sweet, the challenge being less than 1000 words of pure fluff and fun in each chapter. I didn't quite finish in time to post it last December.

Given that it's too late for Christmas, you're probably wondering why I'm posting a Christmas story full of fluff now, in February. This is for Razztazztic, because she did not get enough fan fiction fluff for Christmas and this story is pretty much nothing but fluff. I'm serious. I mean, if you blow away all the fluff and squint just a little, you might find a plot hiding somewhere underneath, but don't count on it.

Right then.

My challenge is simple, but Booth and Brennan's is considerably more difficult: survive a comedy of errors while claiming a Christmas tree.

Can they do it?

Can I...?

Set in season four.

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**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #1: You never go alone_

"It's tradition," he insisted.

"You were raised in Philadelphia … how is traipsing into the countryside to fetch a fir tree any kind of city slicking tradition?"

"City Slick-_er_. And it just is."

Brennan pursed her lips, glancing around her office doubtfully. "I have work to do…"

"You always have work. It's not going anywhere."

Hmm, that was a perfectly rational rebuttal, causing her to reach further out into the realm of emotional excuses. "But what about Parker…?"

"He's with Rebecca this weekend and I want the tree up before I get him again next week."

"But shouldn't he help you procure and decorate the tree?"

"Bones," he murmured, coming closer and pulling her to stand by her hand. "When was the last time you decorated a Christmas tree?"

"Me?" Her eyes went a bit wide at the surprising question and then hazed over as she turned inward to calculate an accurate answer. "Eighteen years."

Warm fingers twined tightly with hers, and he was so close she had to tip her head back a little. Sorrow tinged his voice and she felt the tip of his nose brush ever so briefly against hers—sending her pulse into tachycardia—before he stepped away and favored her with a charm smile. "Seventeen years too long. We need to do something about that."

Reminding herself that she was a rational adult who could not be lured into reckless endeavors on just the draw of her partner's charming smile, Brennan repeated his plan out loud. Just to make it clear he understood how ill conceived it truly was. "By driving out into the country just barely ahead of a predicted snowstorm, to fetch a living fir tree from the forest?"

"That's right."

Seeley Booth knew fate was on his side: any moment she would give in (if only to be present as a witness to his comeuppance) so that was why he'd moved over to her coat tree to fetch her warm, winter coat that she'd worn today in anticipation of the approaching winter weather.

"What are you planning to use to cut it down?"

"An axe."

Snorting, she rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't a saw be the preferred tool? I could lend you a bone saw."

Her partner's horrified refusal came sputtering just behind the coat he was still gamely proffering. "No creepy dead people saws are to be used on a Christmas tree."

"Why not? By cutting it down you are effectively killing the tree, thus turning it into a 'creepy dead thing.'"

"It's not the same!"

Brennan shrugged. "I see no discernible difference."

"Just trust me on this, okay? I am the Christmas tree expert around here." He shook the jacket invitingly. "So, are you coming…?"

Arms crossed, her toe had begun tapping. "Only if you let me bring the bone saw."

"Bones…."

"No saw, no Bones." Hearing herself, she laughed. "Hey, that's funny! Because you call me Bones and I cut into bones with a bone saw."

"Yeah, hilarious." While she was gloating over her pun, he'd spun her around and managed to get one sleeve slid up the length of her arm.

"I am becoming quite amusing," she decided.

Fondly tweaking her ear, Booth brought the jacket around and worked it over her other arm. "Don't quit your day job."

"You mean stop working at the Jeffersonian? Why would I do that…?"

"Exactly."

~Q~

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**Author's Note:** The best misadventure I ever survived involved getting a Christmas tree the old school way. It went something like this...


	2. Rule 2: Get good directions

**Author's Note:** Hello all you readers, thanks for joining this crazy trip. One of my all time favorite sayings is: "People plan, God laughs." In this case, the people didn't plan, and God probably laughed even harder.

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

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_Rule #2: Be sure you have good directions  
_

"How far are we going," Brennan finally asked. They'd traveled over thirty minutes west on 66 until Booth swung north on the 267 towards Reston, but he didn't stop there. She guessed, "Leesburg?"

"Past that." Booth pressed a button on the radio, switching from commercials to Christmas music (an instrumental version of _Greensleeves_, which she remarked upon with surprise – "Hey, Greensleeves! I know that one." – only to be sideswiped with a confused stare).

"What Child is This."

"What child is who?"

"No, What Child is _This_," he repeated.

"Which child?"

"That's what it's called."

"What the child is called?"

"That's the song."

"No, the song is Greensleeves."

Booth laughed. "This is like Abbot and Costello."

"Who?"

"Who's on first," he chortled.

"What?!" Brennan was gaping at him.

"No, What's on second."

"…?"

He felt the baffled stare and snickered. "Come on, Bones. You watch old movies, you must know who Abbot and Costello are."

A very long and silent moment spun out between them while she seemed to ponder his challenge.

"I don't give a damn," she finally said, with a slender brow rising up to greet him.

He blinked in shock.

Another second passed. Her lips curved. "He's the shortstop."

"Who?"

"Who is on first, and I Don't Give a Damn plays shortstop. Pay attention, Booth."

Disbelief whipped his head around to hers, where he found her laughing beside him in the front seat.

"You played me," he accused, impressed and vowing never to underestimate her again.

"And you didn't answer my question," she retorted.

"Which question."

"How far are we going?"

Booth reached over and plucked hand-written directions accompanying a hand-sketched map out of his map compartment, handing them over. Brennan scowled at the imprecise data that met her curiosity.

"None of these streets are named."

"We go out past Berryville and then head south about five miles down Springsbury Road."

"…To Eddy Bear Tree Farm?"

Booth grinned. "Clever name, huh?"

"Where did you hear about this place?"

"Oh, Charlie knows a guy who knows a guy."

"Does this guy have a name?"

"Uh, Eddy?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "How will you know when you get there, since there's no address?"

"You turn left at the river. It says it right there."

Indeed, it did. Glancing skeptically at her partner, Brennan pursed her lips. "Hey, Booth. Would you hand me the map of Virginia, please."

"What for?" But he did anyway.

"Because I'm cynical regarding the reliability of nonspecific directions provided by a man named Eddy Bear," she quipped.

~Q~

"The road ends here," he muttered for the third time. At the end of Springsbury Road they had reached a T intersection with farm land to the fore, and two ways to go. "Where's the river?"

Brennan was consulting the map, her brow furrowed. "If we turn left, we'll reach the Shenandoah in less than a quarter mile, where we will have the option to turn left or right. However, if we turn _right_ we will also reach the river in about two miles and again will be presented with the option to turn left or right."

"So which way do we go?"

"It would be easier to decide if we had the address. Perhaps I'll Google it."

"Don't bother, he's not on the web. I checked."

Brennan raised her eyes very slowly, her stupefied gaze crawling slowly up his shirt until it found his sheepish shrug.

"I'll find another farm," she offered then. "There must be others in the area."

"No, I'll just … let's go left."

"Why?"

"Maybe that's what he meant, go left at the river."

"We aren't at the river."

Nibbling on his lower lip, Booth shrugged. "The river's closest to our left, right? Let's call it a gut feeling."

"Does your gut have a good grasp of geography?"

Booth favored her with one of his most charming smiles. "Where is your spirit of adventure, Bones?"

"I left it in the lab."

~Q~

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**Author's Note:** Yes, it started out this way for real. The farm was referred to us by someone at work and bad directions got us lost, LOL.

**Disclaimer:** Before lawyers come knocking, let me assure you that any Eddy Bear Tree Farm that might happen to exist in the great state of Virginia (or West Virginia) is completely innocent of all the outrages enumerated herein. Any similarity in name to any reputable tree farms operating in rural VA is completely coincidental. The aforementioned farm really did exist in one of the other 48 states, however. :P


	3. Rule 3: No Pain, No Gain

**Author's Note:** This space left blank unintentionally.

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**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

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_Rule #3: No Pain, No Gain_

The answer was no, his gut did not have a good grasp of geography.

Much to Brennan's consternation, even intestinal hunches as gifted as Booth's proved unreliable at navigation when working in tandem with vague directions and inexact addresses. His gut feeling resulted in another twenty minute drive, two calls to Charlie Burns for revised directions, quite a bit of backtracking and no end of bickering, but eventually they passed a hand-painted sign proclaiming the existence of Eddy Bear Tree farm was at hand. _Somewhere up ahead_, assured the second sign. _Keep going_, the last one urged.

_Right here,_ proclaimed the largest one, with a reassuring arrow pointing out a less-than-reassuring gravel road. A road that stretched for miles. A road that was poorly maintained and would end only at the very western edge of the continent from the looks of things.

For several seemingly endless minutes they bounced over chuckholes, Brennan murmuring that the constant yaw and pitch in their seats was going to strain ligaments and couldn't possibly be good for Booth's back.

"My back is fine."

"Only because you finally let me fix it," she countered.

He scowled her into silence. The road dipped and swayed, the front end of Booth's car plunged steeply starboard then jounced violently back upright, expelling tension and breaths but at the same time revealing a most welcome sight up ahead: Finally, a fence ... with a gate. Signs of civilization.

At the gate Booth turned into a wide, gravel car park that contained no less than two other cars. (However, one of the cars was rusted and gave every indication of having existed in the same location since the day it rolled off the production line ... at Studebaker.) Off to their right, a circle of concrete cinderblock bricks caged in an anemic fire; beyond that stood a ramshackle shack precariously perched on the edge of a steep bluff. Brennan turned to Booth. "Where are the trees?"

There weren't any. Not one single tree that wasn't deciduous.

"Uh..."

He turned a circle, taking in the sloping hills carpeted with oak, ash, beech, maple, (or whatever they were, since they were all naked and one naked tree looks pretty much like another to people who aren't boy scouts or Jack Hodgins). No Christmas trees at Eddy Bear Tree Farm? This caper was starting to smell like a snipe hunt.

"Hey there!"

A thickset, burly man bearing an ursine beard shambled towards them, clothed in flannel, and heartily pumped Booth's hand. Then he turned to Brennan, tipping his cap (at least it wasn't coon-skin, Booth mused) with a jaunty, "Ma'am."

Brennan's nose wriggled disapprovingly but she kept quiet and nodded.

"Y'all here for a Christmas tree?"

"We thought so," Brennan remarked blandly, "but it would appear you have them well concealed."

Tossing his head back so far in laughter that his cap fell off, the Eddy Bear took nearly an entire sixty seconds to compose himself, retrieve his cap and wipe his eyes free of their liquid merriment. "That wasn't on purpose, you understand. It's just the lay of the land. The trees are all down there."

Down ... where...?

He was pointing to the edge of the earth, or what appeared to be the edge of a hitherto unknown abyss hiding in northern Virginia. There?

Booth and Brennan edged closer, peeking over the rim. A tiny trail slithered through more naked trees in serpentine switchbacks down ... down ... down the steep cliff to reach a river so far at the bottom that they couldn't hear it. There were indeed trees down there, so distant that they resembled toothpicks stuffed into café-style Reuben sandwiches, tiny little trees pinned to the sides of the river.

"You have got to be kidding me," Booth muttered.

"It's not that far," Brennan ventured gamely.

"No?" He turned a sour grimace her way. "Assuming we survive the trip down to the bottom, we gotta get a tree from _down there_ ... back up _here_."

Brennan pursed her lips, considering the challenge ahead. "I guess it's a good thing you brought me instead of Parker."

As if the daunting trek they faced didn't present enough of an obstacle, the brooding clouds overhead decided they'd contained themselves long enough. A few flurries had first fluttered down when they got out of the car. Within the span of the last few minutes, however, it had begun to snow in earnest.

~Q~

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**Author's Note:** Did I mention this misadventure is based on a true story...?


	4. Rule 4: Find the right tree

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all for reading and for reviews. I'm so glad people are having fun with this story. :)

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**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

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_Rule #4: Find the Right Tree_

Snow had begun to accumulate already, causing the partners to glance at each other warily.

"I'll get the axe," Booth decided.

"Ooh, sorry folks. No axes are allowed." Eddy Bear pointed them helpfully towards a sign prohibiting axes and alcohol. "Had a mishap here last year."

"Why am I not surprised," Brennan murmured, but she refrained from rolling her eyes when she perceived how thoroughly Booth's visage had collapsed at this unwelcome news.

Seeing the dismay also, Eddy offered them a hacksaw. Booth grumbled an acceptance while Brennan huffed an exasperated sigh and went to the car. She pulled out a rectangular case just over one foot long and stuffed it into her voluminous messenger bag. It was too large to fit all the way in, so she tucked the loose flap over the top and wedged the entire cumbersome package under her arm.

"What's that," he asked suspiciously.

"The bone saw."

"No way, Bones. We are not—"

"Going to be successful with that." She stopped him with a grimace and a gesture, indicating the wimbly little hacksaw that Eddy the Bear was nimbly handing over. "My bone saw is expressly designed to cut through a human femur, which is admittedly of a width that is smaller than a tree trunk, but bone is a much harder substance than either fir or pine."

Eddy Bear's mouth hung open just a little. "You call her 'Bones?' And she has a bone saw?" He turned to Brennan. "You a mortician or something?"

"Or something," Booth grunted. "Let's go, Morticia."

"Don't call me that," she snapped. Spinning, leaving a twist of mud and snow behind, Brennan made for the plunge with Booth and his hacksaw in tow.

The path was slippery and steep, extracting extreme caution from the partners carefully picking their way to the bottom. When they got to a level span, Booth increased his speed until he'd reached her side. "Why don't you want me to call you Morticia?"

"It's not my name."

"Neither is Bones, but you let me call you that."

Brennan halted, causing Booth to briefly overshoot her before he swung back around. "I never 'let you,' you just ... do it anyway."

Frowning, he searched his memory for signs that she didn't like his pet name for her. She'd given up her objections so early on that he'd assumed it grew on her. That she liked it. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No..." With a sigh, she shrugged and resumed walking. "Bones is fine; I just don't like Morticia."

"Why not?"

"You're the only one who has ever called me Bones."

Booth considered that carefully, nodding to himself with a sudden suspicion. "Someone else has called you Morticia?"

Tightly, she confirmed it. "Yes."

"Okay."

It was so easy she looked at him askance. "Okay...?"

"Yeah, okay. I'm not going to call you something that makes you feel bad." Surely she would understand that...?

Her eyes shot towards the heavens before rolling down and around, a move that she'd perfected after spending an afternoon with Parker. (Just what he needed, his eight year old kid teaching his adult partner the tricks of adolescent impudence.) "You called me Bones when you knew that I hated it."

"Ah, but that wasn't intended to make you feel bad." Well, maybe he did intend it a little, in the beginning, (not that he would admit that out loud), but since those earliest days she'd gone from snarling to scowling, to sighing, to smiling when hearing her name called (not that _she_ would ever admit it). She was smiling now.

"Yeah, okay." And she used another Parker-approved expression to convey the fact that she didn't believe a word of it. His original, provocative intent had not gone unnoticed.

Seeing the undeniable influence of his son in his partner made him deliciously lighthearted. Booth laughed lightly, tilting his head up to take in the tumbling flurries. "I love snow."

"I like it better when I'm indoors," she grumbled. "Where it's warm and dry."

Upon reaching the trees, Booth's buoyant mood faltered and his steps dribbled back to tiny, dispirited scuffs as he took in one scraggly tree after another. The branches of nearly all of them grew unevenly, exposing gaping gaps in greenery and an uneven distribution of upward growth that would be difficult to hide. "These are terrible!"

"It would appear the soil lacks the proper ratio of nutrients," Brennan decided. "The lack of symmetry suggests an erratic application of fertilizer."

Booth suspected that was scientist-speak for the expected result of letting an Eddy Bear run a tree farm. There was nothing to be done but keep looking and hope for something halfway acceptable. (Or give up entirely, but after the suicidal trek down here he was determined not to ascend empty-handed.) Not so helpfully, Brennan declared it was his tree, ergo it was his decision ... on all counts. Thus deprived of even her aesthetic input, they wandered farther into the stand of not-so-Noble fir, Booth shaking his head in disagreement over each and every malformed tree until they reached the edge of cultivation and stopped.

"What now?" Brennan turned to see her partner watching her with a curious expression, one she was sure she'd never seen before. "What's wrong?"

"Do you see where you're standing?" His eyes crinkled lightly at the edges, his cheeks sharper and, as her eyes traveled lower, his lips thinning into an opportunistic grin.

Where was she standing? Brennan glanced around herself, noting she was mostly in the open. There was a barbed wire fence behind her, a slurry of unsaleable Noble fir trees behind Booth, and he was looking beyond her. So she turned, noticing for the first time that she'd stopped beneath an oak tree, but that wasn't quite what had brought about his suddenly mischievous side.

~Q~

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**Author's Note:** Did Brennan find the right tree?


	5. Rule 5: Watch for hazards!

**Author's Note:** Dear readers, is this what you wanted...?

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**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

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_Rule #5: Watch for Hazards  
_

She tilted her head upwards, noting the richly green leaves clumped up in the otherwise bare branches, growing out of swollen galls and dangling waxy white berries over her head. Swallowing a shocked exclamation, Brennan leaped sideways as if bitten only to find herself caught up against her partner, who had moved in with disturbing speed.

"Whoa, there! Where ya goin'?"

"I didn't ... I didn't notice it." If there was any skill the anthropologist prided herself on (outside of the lab), it was her powers of observation, the noting of details in her surroundings with precision and clarity. To miss something so obvious (and so obviously laden with romantic implications) that she would actually come to a halt beneath it... Booth would insist it meant she harbored a hidden desire. She felt her face flaming, and her heart tripping just as much as her tongue.

"Well, it's a lucky thing I did then." And he was smiling, a kind of anticipatory grin that sent a shock of awareness hurtling through her body. Stepping closer, Booth dropped the hacksaw and used his newly freed hand to raise her chin. "Gotta follow the rules of the trail, Bones."

"Don't get separated?" she posited, feeling her head spin and sparks shooting out her fingertips. Sometimes he got this close and disturbed her equilibrium, but thus far he'd never actually...

"Don't stop under the mistletoe," he admonished, "or else you pay the price."

"Booth..." They were partners, he'd drawn a line; he wouldn't...

"Anthropologists respect ancient tradition," he teased.

"It's really more of a superstition. A single woman who isn't kissed will remain single for the year." And that was perfectly all right with her, really. He didn't need to intervene on her behalf or anything. She wasn't dropping hints (Brennan was never that good at subtle anyway); no, she was just stating a fact.

"Can't have that," he murmured and then he was on her. Booth's lips, firm and warm, pressed against hers and held her in thrall long enough for the buzzing in her head to transfer to flashing lights in her eyes and crackling energy humming between them. Then he began to move.

His mouth moved against hers, sliding and ohh... One of them moaned. She imagined her heart was a bird thrashing inside its cage, trying to escape, and the only reason it didn't get out was because Booth had caged her inside of his arms. This was not chaste; this was not partners teasing each other. This was ... her thoughts stalled right about then because he'd stopped.

Too soon he pulled away, leaving her flushed and flustered, her eyes still closed to view the fireworks exploding against her eyelids. When he spoke, he sounded rather breathless himself. "Hey Bones?"

Her eyes blinked, opening to his. "Hmm?"

"What happens if she gets a kiss?"

"Who...?" Brennan unconsciously reached out to grasp Booth's elbow, steadying herself. He'd just kissed her, and there wasn't any blackmail involved. Or Tequila. And now he was asking _her_ what it meant?

"I kissed you under mistletoe last year and now this year. What happens now?"

Marveling at how she could still function despite feeling so very intoxicated, Brennan relayed the rest of mistletoe's prophetic role in a single woman's life: "Traditionally, it would mean we are destined to marry."

Watching him react to this news, Brennan noted his beaming approval and felt oddly comforted by the easy way he clasped her hand against his arm and smoothly swooped down to pick up the discarded saw. The fact that he didn't say anything puzzled her, yet she was grateful for his silence if it would give her time to process what had just occurred. Together they walked back into the trees, feeling snow tickle against their faces and she marveled at how they could walk so closely beside each other moments after kissing and mentioning their tradition-destined matrimony, (her hand still held pressed against his arm, imprisoned by his larger, warmer one). They'd kissed and mentioned marriage, and yet she felt calm and steady as though nothing unusual had happened.

Even with her lips still pulsing and her breath coming in brisk little spurts. Even with her thoughts tumbling like the snowflakes whirling around them.

"How about that one," he suggested, pointing out a tree that looked somewhat aesthetically pleasing from three out of four angles.

Suddenly it was like everything had changed and they were doing this together. Suddenly it felt like it was going to be her tree, too. Brennan pulled her hand away and walked around the tree, regarding its near approach to perfection curiously. "It has an orange flag tied into the branches over here."

Booth groaned. "That means it's claimed already. Great."

"How do you know that?"

"Eddy mentioned the flags when he handed me the hacksaw."

"Oh."

They continued the search, finding several more flagged and thus unavailable candidates, until they finally settled on a long-term relationship with a tree that bore magnificent flaws. The gaps could be concealed with just the right presentation (a bare side turned towards the wall) and tender, loving decorations to bring out the finer points still gracing the tree. "It's a Charlie Brown tree," Booth decided with approval.

Brennan nodded uncertainly, guessing that Charlie at the Hoover was named Brown. (She recalled his surname began with a 'B' and featured an 'r' and the letter 'n'.) "Because Charlie sent you here to Eddy Bear tree farm," she agreed, and earned herself another one of Booth's exasperated sighs.

"For Christmas I'm getting you a TV."

~Q~

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**Author's Note:** Ah, mistletoe! (Naturally, a Christmas-themed fluffy tale told at Valentine's absolutely requires the presence of mistletoe.)


	6. Rule 6: It takes teamwork

**Author's Note:** Sorry to post & run ... it's midterm season!

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**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #6: It takes teamwork__  
_

Five minutes later they were bickering like an old married couple.

"No, I said to push it _that_ way!"

Brennan, both arms lost in the depths of the tree, scowled down at her partner who was laying down in the slushing snow with the hack saw half caught inside the barely cut trunk. "Which way?"

"East!"

"North would be better," she countered.

"I'm cutting on the west side."

"_South_-west, but with your right hand. That means the highest amount of pressure you can exert is coming towards the north."

"Just push to the east. Please."

Grumbling, she complied. The saw remained caught.

"Push it."

"I _am_ pushing!"

"Push harder."

Pulling her arms out and slapping one palm onto an out-thrust hip, she suggested, "Perhaps you should push the tree and I will operate the saw."

His eyes traced the curve of her hip appreciatively. "Cutting the tree is a man's job."

"What an unbelievably sexist thing to say! I'm quite certain I've cut through more femurs than you have fir trees."

"You know, that's just sick." But he was up, and without either of them thinking anything of it Brennan had moved to brush the clinging wet slush off his back. When she came around to the front, Brennan lifted his arm and extended it, earning herself a baffled stare from her exasperated partner. "What are you doing?"

Extending her own arm likewise, she snuggled in to demonstrate the disparity in extension. "Your arms are longer and larger than mine, thus making you better equipped to push the tree away from the kerf."

"The what?" His arm slipped down around her automatically, bringing hers down with it. He was so close.

For a moment, she forgot what point she was trying to make.

"What's a kerf?" he prompted. They were so close it was no wonder the snow seemed to be melting.

Shaking her head at the scattering of her good sense, Brennan remembered the point she was trying to win. She grinned and drew a slice across his chest as she stepped away. "Where I'll be cutting." And before he could offer any other objections to her proposed change in areas of responsibility (now that he was nicely distracted as well), Brennan had pulled out her bone saw. While he watched, bemused, she dropped to her knees in the slush. "Push to the north, Booth."

She could tell the moment he did because the hacksaw loosened. "Okay, _now_ push east." When the saw was free Brennan tossed it aside. She fit the larger bone saw into the kerf Booth had started and, using both hands, began to work the saw back and forth. Saw dust flew and piled below the cut. It was harder work than cutting a femur in the lab due to the awkward, sideways angle just parallel to the ground, yet she knew several tricks for getting leverage.

The kerf grew deeper; her knees grew wetter; the tree shifted and icy snow slid down her neck. Her palms started to burn/sting/ache but by now it had become a matter of pride so she pushed past the pain and worked the saw furiously.

"Here, let me take over," he suggested a few minutes later. Brennan paused in her efforts to scowl up at him. Booth dropped to the snow and gently removed her cramped hands from the handle. Turning them, he tugged off one of her gloves and winced at the blisters beginning to bubble upwards on her palms. "Partners share the work equally."

The way he said it, so tender and concerned, brought a surprising capitulation out of her. He wasn't being sexist and her hands really did hurt. Without a word Brennan replaced her glove and took her place at the side while Booth took over the sawing. It wasn't so bad up here, she decided, because from this vantage point she had an excellent view of his shoulders and arms moving the saw fluidly.

Finally with a small crack the last few millimeters of fir trunk gave way to Booth's stronger saw strokes and the tree snapped down.

"Timber!"

"You were a little late with that," she chuckled, while he struggled to his feet on knees that weren't quite sure if they were functioning.

The wind gusted snow around them both. Brennan shivered.

"Cold?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm freezing," he admitted, twisting to inspect his damp posterior.

"I was not prostrate under the tree so the cold hasn't affected me as strongly yet," Brennan decided. But that benefit would quickly dissipate if they didn't keep moving. She packed up her saw after cleaning it with a soft cloth and when she had finished she noted that Booth had positioned himself at the trunk of the tree.

Taking the top, she nodded and together they began the half mile trek up an incline that seemed to grow steeper by the step. As they ascended, their steps slowed and the tree dragged a swath of snow before it, leaving Brennan's trail slicker and more treacherous than she liked. Several times a foot shot out behind her, causing her to stumble and catch at the tree, pull it out of Booth's grip and then he would stop.

Each time, Booth would pause and look back at her while she regained a sure footing. "You need a rest?"

"No," she sniffed. (Her nose was running; quite an unsightly development, curse this chill, damp air!) She was not weak and could keep up with her partner no matter how far, how cold, how heavy, how exhausted and wet and miserable the mission. He didn't need to keep offering a reprieve for her sake.

"Okay," he sighed, and resumed the march. A few minutes later she stumbled again and he repeated the question and the way the tree trunk sagged, tugging his shoulders into a rounded droop, suggested a far more welcome motive for the repetition.

"Do you want to rest, Booth?" She sniffed again, her blistered palms decidedly aflame from the rough needles and squirmy, spindly tree tail she'd been half-carrying, half-shoving up the trail.

"God, yes!"

They both collapsed gratefully into the snow precisely where they'd been standing a moment earlier.

"Bones, your nose is running."

"Shut up, Booth."

~Q~

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**Author's Note:** Getting our tree up that huge incline went pretty much as described here, LOL.


	7. Rule 7: Warm up with hot cocoa

**Author's Note:** Our B&B are halfway home, our story is halfway done, now it's time for a rest. :)

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #7: Heat things up with hot cocoa_

The culmination of their excruciating climb was Eddy the Bear meeting them at the top, gamely taking over Brennan's end of the rebellious tree. "Woo! Got yourselves a big one! Why don't you head on over to the fire there, Missus? You look like you could use a thawing."

Brennan's nose twitched at the presumption about her marrital status (it was just a mistletoe kiss, not a wedding ceremony). And were she truly in need of a thawing she would be incapable of the self-propulsion required to get herself to the fire pit. Booth met her frosty disapproval with a pleading pout, as if begging her not to vocalize her disdain for presumptive hyperbole. Fine. It wasn't worth the waste of already winded breath anyway. Sniffing (cursing the cold-induced rhinorrhoea), she approached the fire with stinging palms extended.

The Bear and Booth lugged the tree over to a scale and negotiated price. Though she did not pay close attention, Brennan was not entirely unaware of the contentious proceedings due to Booth's elevated decibel levels and wild gesticulations. Finally an agreement was reached, silence drifted, and eventually her partner joined her on the log where her knees had decided they would like to remain permanently flexed. Plus, her nose had finally ceased dripping.

"Here."

She blinked, brought out of her stupor by the scent of chocolate wafting upwards. Turning surprised eyes from the steaming paper cup to her partner's sparkling sepia gaze, she unconsciously leaned a little closer to both sources of warmth. "What is this?"

As if she didn't know. Wrapping her chilly fingers around it, she accepted the offering without further parsing.

"Hot cocoa," he murmured, tipping his own cup towards hers. "Energy for the road."

"Empty calories," she countered. But she took a sip anyway, enjoying the swirl of warm chocolate flooding her mouth.

"Like you need to worry about that," he snorted.

Lowering her cup, she frowned and attempted to explain that her current vitality was entirely the result of her stringent dietary vigilance. "Of course. Excellent health and fitness can only be obtained by ensuring the quality of my caloric intake. Foods with low nutritional value—"

"Are more fun," he interrupted. "And _you_ look just fine. A cup of hot chocolate here and there is not going to ruin your figure. It's perfect. More than perfect, if you ask me."

"Who said anything about ruining my figure," she began, still hung up on health, but then the rest of what he'd said caught up to her. "Wait..."

He hid a grin behind a gulp of chocolate, swallowing quickly because it was still slightly too hot and he hoped she was gearing up for an inquisition.

"Did you just..." she shook her head, abruptly retreating. (Much to his disappointment.) "You didn't."

"Didn't what?" _Not going to let her climb down off that hook,_ he thought. Flirting with Bones required a great deal of careful planning and an occasional effort at out-maneuvering just to get her to recognize that she was being flirted with.

"Compliment my hips-to-waist ratio. That is what is colloquially referred to as a 'figure,' if I understand the term correctly. But a figure can also refer to a person of indeterminate shape. I must assume that definition since I am not currently in possession of either a numerical or diagrammatic construct, which are the other definitions of 'figure.'" She paused, suddenly uncertain of what to say next, realizing that her sudden rush of words might indicate an unsettled state of mind.

Booth was looking at her with twinkling eyes. That is an indication of sexual attraction, her inner professor posited, so maybe he really did mean...

"Bones," he murmured.

"What?"

"Is that the way your brain works? Light speed, uber-analytical, and completely missing the forest for the trees?"

Brennan swallowed a larger dose of chocolate, glancing up at Booth to note breathlessly, "the trees are behind you. There's no forest, however, since this is a tree farm. I don't miss things, Booth."

"The farm is surrounded by forest," he countered. "And I think you missed it."

"Are ... are you speaking in terms of suffering the absence of something, or of mistaking a fact?"

"Both." He moved in before she could ask what he meant, showing her instead by taking her lips in a sweet, chocolatey kiss.

Heat flooded her body. Distantly, Brennan decided she didn't need the hot drink or the fire any further as her partner's brushing touch swept her pulse into a frenzy. She gasped, her lips parting and he accepted her invitation boldly. Licking into her, tasting hot chocolate, he sipped and then slipped away with most of her higher intellectual capabilities.

"Booth." Dazed, almost trembling, she opened her eyes to his. "There's no mistletoe here."

"I know."

"Why did you kiss me?"

"You missed it. And you taste like chocolate."

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** Whoa, I bet they're both feeling a _lot_ warmer now.


	8. Rule 8: Get the tree into the car

**Author's Note:** So, I'm breaking rules here. Some of these chapters are a little over my 1000 word limit & straying outside the lines of canon. But then again, you probably didn't want me to stay in canon, right? We all know how that turned out in the short term. Yeah, this is better.

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #8: Get the tree into the car  
_

Booth's kiss and his explanation for it swirled in her mind, rendering her silent and thoroughly confused. What had she missed? There had been no intoxicants, no contrivances, no cultural norms to uphold, which meant he'd kissed her simply because he wanted to. If that were true, however, then he had crossed his own line and ... with her neurons still nuzzling into a dopamine doze, she wasn't capable of interpreting anything further just then. Not without further evidence or at least time alone to contemplate. And she wasn't sure how to ask for either.

She also, quite distinctly and rather desperately, desired to kiss him again. And again. And again... Closing her eyes, Brennan watched fantasies of kissing Booth unfurl in the darkness there, their combined figures dancing in the fires of Plato's cave.

Beside her, Booth had settled back on the coarse log, sipping chocolate and gazing into the fire with quiet contentment. Even with her eyes closed Brennan found she was acutely attuned to him, not just the lift of his arm when he brought his cup of chocolate to his mouth, but even of the smallest expansion of his ribs as he drew breath and the subtle movement of his eyes tracking the fire. Awareness of Booth's location and general activity had long been a feature of their partnership, as well as confusion over his behavior, yet never had she experienced such an axial immersion, as if she were somehow at the hub of a Booth-centric universe.

It was a relief when he finally declared their rest at an end.

"Come on, Bones. We gotta get the tree in the car and hit the road before this snow gets any worse."

As they approached the tree currently tilting against the tailgate, Brennan welcomed any distraction that would take her mind off Booth's lips, their taste and texture - so surprisingly silken when they slid against hers - and already she found it difficult to dispel the fantasies she'd replayed of kissing Booth twice in one day. It was a mistake to indulge in that, she realized, because now she couldn't stop.

"Tip first will be easier to get out later," he decided, and she deliberately avoided looking anywhere near his mouth when he spoke. They hoisted the tree, Brennan's complete distraction letting Booth determine which direction, until his effort to stuff the tree in tip-first caused the branches to flare outwards like a rebellious umbrella.

"Can you get in there and push those branches down," he asked.

Shaken out of her dreamy reverie, she complied. It was further away from temptation and she was smaller, making his suggestion logical. Brennan clambered over the tree, stuffing down stray limbs and batting aside scratching needles with increasing difficulty as more the tree's bulk entered the vehicle. Then Booth began complaining. "We need to get more in!"

"This is as far as it will go," she protested.

"Well there's a lot still hanging out the back end, here. I guess we'll have to tie a hazard flag on it."

Shoving branches out of her way, Brennan peeked out the back and saw that fully 1/3 of the tree extended beyond the end of the SUV. "We can't leave with this much of the tree's mass extending so far beyond the fulcrum."

"With a flag it should be fine." He hoped she meant it would be a hazard to other cars in the 'sticking out too far' way, but feared she meant in the 'falling out too fast' way.

"No, the force exerted by the greater mass will create more torque."

"What does that mean in English."

She sighed, translating her concerns since her partner enrolling in remedial physics was unlikely at this point. "The tree won't stay in the truck."

He did not grasp terms like torque, but Booth was well-versed in practical experience. He'd suspected as much himself. "Well then what are we going to do?"

Gnawing on her lower lip, Brennan glanced around herself, knowing the uphill battle she'd just waged against the tree would now have to be repeated at their destination. "We should flip the tree, putting the trunk in first."

"No, getting it out will be impossible!"

"It was not easy to get it in here to begin with," she pointed out. And she should know, having been the one who battled hardest to overcome the tree's resistance. "Unless you have something to tie it down on the roof...?"

He didn't. (That would have required prior planning, she thought with a wry grimace handily concealed behind the tree.)

It took less than a minute to extract the tree. Brennan remained inside and helped Booth guide it back in until the trunk was wedged just behind the passenger seat. Then, being trapped, she squirmed around until she could climb over the transmission hump and fall, exhausted, into her seat. The scent of fir perfumed the car. She was really beginning to despise that smell.

A moment later Booth returned to the cab as well, after tying a strip of orange hazard tape to the tree tip. "Ready?"

"Booth, have you ever taken Parker out to get a tree in this 'traditional' manner?"

"Naw, he's still too little."

"I see." She twitched aching shoulders and a weary sigh. "You're just using me for my strength and endurance."

"Maybe I just wanted your bone saw."

"You didn't want me to bring it," she objected.

"You didn't want to come," he countered.

She watched him start the engine.

"I am glad I came, Booth."

Their gazes met and locked. "Me, too."

"But I will never do this again," she vowed vehemently.

Booth laughed. "Never say never."

They drove away bickering over the definition of a paradox.

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** Since I'm not sure if Booth would have taken his FBI-issued SUV on a personal trip (probably not), I'm leaving vague what type of car they have.


	9. Rule 9: Be prepared for the unexpected

**Author's Note:** Of course they got the tree and they're all bundled up safely in their car. What kind of writer do you think I am? (Hint: an evil one)

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #9: Outfit the car for unexpected events  
_

The world was a ocean of white, except for the two winking tail lights just ahead of them. They dimmed, promising an incremental creep forward, but then abandoned hope with a brighter flare of brake lighting.

"We are never gonna get home," Booth muttered, craning his neck to take in the blizzard like conditions that had slowed traffic on the highway to a near crawl. It should have taken an hour to get home; instead, they'd just watched the third hour tick by. "How can there be this much traffic on a Saturday? Where are all these people going?"

"Nowhere, just like us," Brennan growled as an embarrassing rumble issued forth from her abdominal region.

"Geesh, what was that?" Booth laughed, causing her to bend over with a grimace and pluck her messenger bag off the floor.

"What do you think? I haven't eaten for hours, and after expending a rather large quantity of energy obtaining the dead tree we are currently carting back to DC, then sitting here for three hours, my digestive system is reminding me of certain, basic necessities."

"Well you don't have to turn all grinchy about it." He certainly hadn't planned this delay, nor any of the mishaps that had befallen them thus far.

Beside him, Brennan fidgeted in her seat, her fingers filching through the contents of her bag in a futile search of any edible morsel she could find. "I don't know what that means."

"How the Grinch Stole Christmas," he challenged. She paused to gift him with a very blank blink. Booth chuckled without humor. "Okay, well maybe you've heard of Ebeneezer Scrooge."

That got through to her. "I'm sorry. I find my mood is being adversely affected by hypoglycemia."

"Yeah, I'm hungry too. But we're stuck for now."

"There's nothing to eat in here," she griped, tossing her useless bag back down with disgust. Why hadn't she thought to pack emergency food supplies before starting out on this ill-advised excursion? Grabbing his jacket, Brennan plunged hopefully into his pockets.

"Hey!" he protested. "That's FBI property, get your grabby hands out of there."

Scowling, the hangry anthropologist chucked his jacket back down with a huff. "I thought you said partners share things."

"Look, I don't go through your mess kit over there. You stay outta my pockets."

"You can look in my bag whenever you want, Booth."

He nearly choked, wondering if she had any idea of where his thoughts had just now wandered. "I don't need to see ... inside your bag."

Detecting the strange, strangled pitch of his rebuttal, Brennan laughed and turned to tease him. "I wasn't using an innuendo."

"Let's just talk about something else, okay?"

"Fine." Doing him one better, Brennan went for broke on a change of topic. She pinned him to his seat with a frank appraisal before abruptly asking, "Why did you kiss me?"

Just about the last thing he'd expected was for her to go there first. His fingers flinched on the steering wheel, his eyes remaining fixed on the tail lights ahead as if they might spare him from answering her. Things happened between them that pushed the line sometimes and it was an entirely rational, unspoken rule that they never really talked about those things. Now she'd gone and broken the taboo, asking him to explain.

Booth knew why he'd kissed her. She'd stopped beneath that wild mistletoe, her cheeks blooming pink and her eyes sparking, the wind lifting stray strands of hair that were not held down by her sensible knit hat. Brennan was beautiful, and under mistletoe and, well, he just had to take advantage of the perfect opportunity with a built-in excuse. "It's tradition to kiss under the mistletoe."

"I meant at the fire," she clarified, further demonstrating her uncanny ability to catch him unprepared. The only consolation he'd ever gotten was knowing he could trip her also. Clearly he'd done it today because her question indicated she was well aware of the significance of that second kiss. The second one had been far less about tradition and far more about wanting to taste her again. But was he ready to admit that?

Was she ready to hear it?

Thinking fast, Booth hoped he might deflect (or at least defer) further grilling when he recalled his younger days, camping out with girls he'd liked. "It's tradition to kiss at campfires."

Brennan eyed him skeptically. "I've never heard of that tradition."

"Definitely a tradition," he defended. "Roast marshmallows, drink hot chocolate, sing out of tune, and kiss the pretty girls."

She fell quiet after that, much to his surprise. Glancing towards her after a few worrisome minutes, he saw Brennan gazing intently at a landscape vanishing behind a snowy screen, at fuzzy forested hills tapering into downy white sheets. With nothing so terribly entrancing to see outside, what her study of it meant was that her face would be turned as far away from his as it could possibly go. She could conceal her thoughts by turning away until all he could see of her was the profile of her cheek and jaw, and yet the gentle forward thrust of her chin still told him she was upset.

Seconds passed into minutes. Silence weighted them like a chilled snowy blanket that even the low music trilling from the stereo couldn't melt. "I guess that explains it," she finally said.

"Explains what?" He deliberately lowered his voice to a near whisper, matching her intensity while simultaneously wondering if she would actually tell him.

"Why I've never heard of the campfire kissing tradition."

"You never went camping?"

Resting her chin in her hand, Brennan had fully captured his attention with just her mood. "I was never one of the pretty girls."

His heart shuddered inside his chest.

A second later, the engine sputtered and died.

"What happened," she asked, concerned as much by his stricken features as by the ominous silence of a non-functioning motor. "Did we just ran out of gas?"

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ha! Told you I was evil...


	10. Rule 10: Get the tree into the house

**Author's Note:** Hmm, apparently evil cliffhangers bring out the desperate in readers... :P

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #10: Get the tree into the house_

They stared at each other for another, very long moment, until she spoke again. "You ran out of gas?" she repeated, eyes widening in disbelief.

"No!"

Jerking himself back into awareness, he laughed. "I tried that with a girl once. It didn't work out like I hoped."

"You ran out of gas on purpose?"

"No, Bones, I pretended. So she'd get scared and I could be the hero. You know..."

Such an odd parade of emotions passed over his partner's face that he didn't know what to make of them. Starting with sadness and confusion (because no, she didn't know about boys trying to be heroes because that would have required boys to be interested in her in the first place), to disapproval of manipulation in general, moving on to curiosity and in the end she stopped at hopeful. "Are you doing that now?"

"Pretending to be out of gas? No."

Disappointment melded into dismay. "So we really are out of gas?

Booth frowned at her. He put the car into neutral and pushed his foot firmly down on the clutch while turning the key and when the engine purred again he turned an exasperated rebuke on his partner. "Of course I didn't run out of gas. Former Army Ranger, remember? What you said surprised me and my foot slipped off the clutch. That's all."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Confusion over her whys was an all-too-common occurrence.

"Why were you surprised by what I said?"

"Because it's not true and you always tell the truth."

It was one of those moments filled with potential, one where he left an opening and waited to see what she would do with it. Much to Booth's surprise, she revealed how true she thought it was when the shy girl who'd wanted a Smurfette from her Secret Santa peeked out at him behind her hesitant question. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"No," he said, very softly. As her eyes fell away and pain flared, he quickly corrected her. "I think you're beautiful, Bones. And not just on the outside."

"You do?" Was that a blush staining her cheeks?

"Brainy Smurf, remember?"

She did remember what he'd said: she had her looks and a whole lot more. Her pleased smiled eased them both back into bantering for the last hour of their trip.

~Q~

One might think the quest to procure a Christmas tree would end upon reaching the front door. One would be wrong.

After a battle of epic proportions involving removal of said tree from the truck, shoving of said battered tree through doorways, into elevators (and out again), then up the back stairs, the partners had encountered their first taste of actual defeat at the front door. Booth and Brennan stared at each other across the bristling, bushy base of the tree, her accusation proving that she'd well earned the moniker of Brainy Smurf. "You've never done this before."

"Yes I have," he sputtered, defending his honor and his traditions that were now under a quite logical assault called the reality check.

Aggravated almost beyond endurance at this point, Brennan stomped a foot. Actually stomped. Then glared. "Clearly you have never attempted to bring a live Christmas tree into your apartment before, Booth, because if you did, you would know that _this tree is too wide_!"

If she weren't so annoyed, Brennan would have been amused to note the shifting of color tinging his ears an unusual shade of pink. Embarrassed pink, to be precise.

"It's a Booth family tradition to get a live tree, okay? Me, Pops, and Jared, we'd all go out and get a tree; then we'd decorate it while Gram would make us hot buttered rum." Now it was Booth's turn to take on the appearance of a shy boy, glancing downward in an effort to explain that she was right, but not really. "I miss that."

"Booth..." Little bits of what he'd said assembled themselves into notions of scattered family, forsaken tradition, and inclusion (hers, into his) that placed this day into an entirely new context. She looked down at blurry branches, surprised to be seeing the tree so clearly for the first time today. The thought that he was not pitying her but rather desiring her companionship in his reenactment of his own childhood reminiscence was all it took to transform a tree from a burden to a cause. Suddenly she found herself wishing there wasn't a damn tree standing in between herself and her partner, but it was, and thus Brennan found her annoyance and frustration sublimated into resolve to remove the obstacle at hand (or rather, at the door). Squaring her shoulders, she gestured for Booth to lift the tree and let her pass.

He did, asking, "Where are you going?"

A pause, while several different responses splashed through her thoughts. Finally she settled on Occam's Razor, the simplest explanation: She stood on tiptoe and pressed an affectionate kiss to his cheek, her eyes holding his when she dropped back and explained, "you brought me with you to help, right?" Then she dashed down the stairs.

Booth was still waiting by the tree when she got back with the bone saw, which he eyed with a resigned eye-roll of acceptance. Brennan set to work trimming branches that extended too far to fit through the door, passing the saw back to Booth so he could trim his side as well. A push, a shove, a burst of firry fury culminating in an explosion of needles ... but they were through. After so much fuss, at last the tree was ensconced inside his apartment.

"I'll get the stand," he volunteered.

Brennan stood facing the corner where the tree was destined, shaking her head at the already assembled jumble of damaged cardboard boxes containing treasures from Christmases past while her partner pawed through them enthusiastically. Finally he pulled out an ancient tin tree stand with a bowl and three bolts, waving it like a trophy. "Here we go!"

Good humor restored, Booth approached the trunk with the ring readied and promptly stumbled over their next hurdle. Brennan laughed and crossed her arms.

One might think the quest to procure a Christmas tree would end upon finding the tree stand. One would be wrong.

"It doesn't fit!"

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** You didn't think they were out of the woods yet, did you...?


	11. Rule 11: Get a stand that fits

**Author's Note:** Readers you are wonderful! Thank you so much for the enthusiastic reception.

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #11: Get a stand that fits  
_

What else could possibly go wrong, Brennan wondered as she watched her dumbfounded partner's third futile attempt to affix his antique tree stand to the robust trunk. Though she wisely held her tongue, even from her spot on the couch two feet away she could judge that the trunk's diameter exceeded that of the stand by at least 5 centimeters.

When he set the stand aside and flopped onto the floor with a weary sigh, Brennan finally stirred. Walking over to their still damp coats, she felt his eyes on her back, his questioning gaze following her progress as she reached for the outer garments and then returned to him. Holding out a hand, helping him up, they stood awhile with locked eyes, each exquisitely aware of the proximity of the other. Something was changing and she sensed he liked it as much as she did. His curious tilt of the head matched her subtle smile when she slowly passed his coat over.

"Where are you taking me," he rumbled.

Brennan's smile went a little wider. "I don't know."

He took a step closer, so much closer she felt the buzz of Boothy intoxication returning.

She tilted her head back further, enjoying the potential energy humming as he got so near, enjoying even her awareness of their disparity of height that only came to her attention when he was this close. It almost seemed a bad idea to speak and break the spell but two thoughts twined together in favor of doing so. First, she was becoming increasingly confident that other opportunities to imbibe in Boothy breathlessness would arrive in regular succession. Second, she was determined to rescue his Christmas tradition no matter what the cost.

So she suggested a destination. "Wherever we can get a bigger tree stand."

"I know a place." He took the coat, his eyes never leaving hers. "We'll have to walk."

She wondered if he had any inkling of how devoutly she wished he would kiss her again. "So we'll walk together," she murmured, wondering if it was sensible to feel such a thrill of hope when he took hold of her hand as they walked out the door a few minutes later.

The streets were quiet, softly buried under white shot through with color from Christmas lights. Most of the shops and even many of the restaurants were closed due to bad weather. Booth found a little Greek restaurant still open four blocks away and they went inside to place a take away order, with a promise to return on their way back home. After that, another four blocks found them pushing open the door to a small hardware shop filled with cluttered aisles and a chipped, gold-flecked Formica floor that was older than either of them by at least a decade.

"Hey, Wally!"

Booth's shout startled Brennan enough to make her turn a shocked and disapproving glance his way.

He grinned unapologetically. "Gotta shout, Bones. 'Cause _Wally here can't hear a thing!_" This last was shouted as well, but softened by the affectionate grin he was sending towards an elderly man shuffling towards him.

"I can hear just fine. Why aren't you out building a snowman with that kid of yours?"

"Becca's got Parker tonight. I'll bring him by next week. Wally, this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"The lovely doctor?" Pale blue eyes met sharpened steel as the much older man looked her over and nodded approvingly. "So you're the one who's got the fortitude to put up with this scoundrel?"

Confused but determined to defend her partner, Brennan drew herself up sharply. "Booth is not a criminal, he's very trustworthy!"

"Heh." Wally chuckled and turned to Booth. "I thought you said she was a genius."

"I am very intelligent."

Unimpressed entirely, the elderly imp leaned in to gleefully imply otherwise. "If you're so smart what are you doing wasting your time with a halfwit like this young buck, eh?"

Oh, this had disaster written all over it. Groaning, Booth tried to steer her away before someone's ego got hurt (his own being the most endangered), but Temperance Brennan wasn't one to back down from a slight to her status as a genius. Possibly stung into action by the accusation that Booth wasn't of a high enough intellectual caliber to match her lofty level (or perhaps it was merely the questioning of her taste in voluntary companionship), she resisted his redirection by stepping forward into a pugilistic stance that Booth hadn't seen her adopt in quite a while.

"I assure you he is fully witted, otherwise our debates would not be so entertaining. There is no pleasure to be found in carrying on a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent!" At this unexpected admission Brennan abruptly halted, her jaw snapping shut when she noticed Booth staring at her in slack-jawed amazement.

Wally laughed at the shocked expression adorning the younger man's face and slapped Booth on the back. "Well, what do you know? She thinks you're smart!"

"Come on Bones, let's just get the tree stand." Not even bothering to hide his proud grin, Booth slid a warm palm against her back and pushed her towards the back of the store where they faced a wide selection of exactly three tree stands. While she examined the specifications of each and selected the only one with a promised 6 inch trunk capacity, he couldn't help thinking of what she'd just said. "You really think I'm smart?"

Her smooth, porcelain skin betrayed her bashfulness in a soft blush as Brennan nodded and met his eyes. "You make me think, Booth. It isn't easy to beat you."

"That's the best compliment you've ever given me." Booth all but strutted back to the cash register beside her.

Her cocky retort punctured his ego immediately. "Don't let it go to your head. My IQ is still higher than yours."

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** Think they're in the clear? Maybe... Maybe not. :P


	12. Rule 12: Make sure it's straight

**Author's Note:** Can you believe there are only two chapters left after this?

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #12: Make sure it's straight  
_

Once they got back to his apartment Brennan started reheating the weather-chilled food while Booth eagerly broke out the new tree stand and began to apply it. Within moments he would have the tree up and watered so they could finally eat and then, all would be well.

But this hope was waylaid by the plaintive wail emanating from the next room. "This isn't fair!"

"What's wrong?" She exited the kitchen to find him frantically attempting to twist an almost - but not quite - big enough stand onto a trunk that _still_ would not fit. But it was very close. Nibbling on her lower lip, Brennan nodded to herself and resolutely retrieved the tool that would once again rescue his Christmas tradition.

At her silent nudge he fell back, eyeing the saw but this this time letting the surgical procedure commence without any actual argument. After cutting off the dried-out base, Brennan shaved just enough off the diameter of the trunk to slide it all the way into the stand.

She turned with a grin, waggling the contested tool triumphantly. "Now I bet you're glad I brought this!"

"I'm just glad I've got _you_, Bones." He took the bone saw and set it down, took her hand and pulled her against him into the kind of embrace that feels like wrapping up in a warm, cozy blanket. Brennan let herself be snuggled up against Booth's broad chest and thick arms, even though part of her was sure this went against their rules.

She felt the hand stroking her back fall still when she drew a breath and asked, "Are we going to talk about this?"

Under her ear, his pulse had picked up speed. "Talk about what?"

When he didn't admit to anything, she ran back over the day's events, including the traditional reasons he'd given for their shared kisses, and decided (with no small amount of disappointment) that she might have misread his friendly traditional observances as romantic overtures. Hope springs eternal but reality will always win out. With a sigh, she pushed back and buried her hopes under further friendly banter. "The number of favors you have claimed from me today far exceeds your yearly allotment."

"I know, you've been amazing." He let her go with a vow. "I'll never forget this."

"No, you won't. Because the next time you ask me to go get a tree the traditional Booth way, I will remind you of today."

Booth teased, "And then you will come running."

"I will not."

"Will to."

"Not."

"Admit it, you had fun today, Bones. And when we go get a tree together next year, we'll have fun again."

If they went together to gather a Christmas tree again next year, would that mean Booth had started a family tradition with her today? Was her inclusion in his family-oriented activity today a sign of something deeper? With these questions lingering in her thoughts, Brennan vanished back into the kitchen but not before sneaking something away from his wet bar while Booth was too busy scrounging for lights to notice. By the time she had two plates of food back to steaming, Booth had the tree in the stand and the bowl filled with water.

At last.

Except...

She noticed it immediately when she set the dishes down on his coffee table. "It's crooked."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"It's fine."

"Look, it's listing twelve degrees off center."

"Bones, you're imagining things."

"Come over here and look!"

"I'm not going to go over there and look."

"Now you're just being stubborn."

"_I'm_ being stubborn?!"

"Fine. Whatever. It's your tree. Let it be crooked." She tossed herself down on the couch, too exhausted and hungry to keep up the bickering and besides, it was his tree.

Booth came nearer, scowling at her, turned, plopped down, and glanced over at the tree. "Crap. It's crooked."

"Told you."

"Yeah, yeah..." Waving her off he pushed back up, stalked over and shoved the tree.

"Too far, now it's seven degrees-"

"Just be quiet. Okay?"

"Fine." It was hard to be quiet, even though she took a bite of falafel to keep her mouth busy. With every unsteady wobble of the tree she wanted to comment and only managed to hold her piece with the help of one of her dolmas. Three bites, three adjustments. It would not go straight. Pita with hummus this time. A fourth adjustment. He cursed. Not even food could help her now. Her brows were sky high, a smirk struggled to break loose into a laugh. Brennan was silently shaking but absolutely determined not to betray her merriment in sound.

Sensing her barely contained mirth, he growled, "This is not funny."

"Just turn it," she suggested, her pitch altered by amusement.

"What? No, there's a big hole."

"Here, your food is getting cold." Brennan shoved his plate at him, then grabbed the tree herself and rotated it about 30 degrees until the listing side slumped into the corner. She stood back. From most angles, it now appeared upright but a gaping maw was now opened up at about abdominal level. Booth groaned. Brennan stared at the gap, deep in thought.

"We could park a car in that hole. This is hopeless. I give up." Booth fell onto his food and abandoned any remaining ideals about how Christmas trees were supposed to look.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?" He'd dug into his Moussaka, finding that hunger made excellent sauce.

"Can I help decorate the tree?"

"Of course." It wasn't like she could do anything worse to the wretched thing than had already been done. Plus it was her tree, too, though he realized from what she'd said a few minutes ago that she may not be aware of her implied ownership. "My tree is your tree," he added just to clarify the situation. "It's _our_ tree."

Wearing a Cheshire grin the likes of which he'd never seen, Brennan stalked over to her bone saw, then went back and she nestled it snugly in the center of the gap. It fit perfectly.

"What the heck is that supposed to be?"

"It's a Charlie Bone tree," she announced proudly.

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** Brennan and her bad puns...


	13. Rule 13: String the Lights

**Author's Note:** Those who are yearning for romance, fear not: Valentine's Day is tomorrow. ;)

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #13: String the lights  
_

A Charlie _Bone_ tree...? "Brown, Bones. Charlie _Brown_."

She frowned. "I know. I was being amusing."

"Oh, that was intentional?"

"Yes."

Only his Bones would come up with that purely ridiculous pun. He laughed, shook his head.

"See? It is funny."

"That's not why I'm laughing."

"Why are you laughing?"

"I'm laughing because there's a bone saw in my Christmas tree."

A little sadly, she asked, "You don't want it there?"

"That's just it," he chuckled affectionately. "I do want it there. I guess Bones and Christmas go together pretty well, after all."

And there it was again, the sizzling current that connected them ever more strongly each time their gazes locked. She felt her pulse pounding, as if something was shifting, pressing, pushing ... and she didn't know what it was except for the sense of this tree being the reason. Everything about this tree had gone wrong and everything felt different somehow, the holiday less hateful.

All because of a tree?

Glancing over at the tree of contention, replaying what they had endured together to get it here, thinking too of Christmases past when Booth had family and she had avoidance tactics, it all boiled down to a question that she was slightly afraid to ask and yet she was even more reluctant to let it go. Maybe it could wait a little longer, though...

So she asked a different question, which she unthinkingly assumed would be a safer one. "What is the procedure for decorating a Christmas tree?"

"First you string the lights." Heading back to the couch with his dinner and more than a touch of curiosity, Booth waited until she'd settled before asking a question of his own. (And thus, he proved that Brennan's concentration was being sorely tested by the shifting tides of the day; she hadn't foreseen this development.) "Surely you can remember decorating Christmas trees when you were a kid."

It should have been an innocent question, one that she could laugh off and then elaborate with a humorous anecdote from her childhood. It should have been something any normal North American child would have done at least once, if they had anyone other than Matthew Brennan (aka Max Keenan) as a father. Instead, she was confronted with the error of her miscalculation in asking how to decorate a Christmas tree, for it naturally revealed a rather critical lack of knowledge on her part.

Noting the mirror flash of light as her eyes began to glisten, Booth slid closer. "Bones, what's wrong?"

Of course he wouldn't understand why an innocent question would bring about such a sudden shift in mood. Closing her eyes against tears that wanted to fall (but never once considering not telling him), she braced herself for the imparting of a long-neglected facet of her childhood. "I never decorated a tree before." She felt Booth's disbelief but didn't open her eyes to check. He would be waiting for an explanation, and if she didn't provide one quickly enough he would jump to his own conclusions.

Which, of course, he promptly did.

"Because your dad is an atheist?"

"No." She shook her head, drawing in a breath and forcing herself to look at the tree because it was easier than looking at Booth while she described a tradition she didn't know she'd missed all these years. "We never got a tree this way, as a family. In fact, I never really knew where they came from. On Christmas Eve, Russ and I would go to bed and when we got up in the morning the tree would just be there, lit up and decorated. My Dad would always say that Santa Claus brought it in the night."

"I can see Max doing that," Booth agreed softly, and he was smiling his approval.

"And you. You tell Parker there's magic at Christmas." Brennan sighed, pushing a dolma into her hummus and then regretting that action, too. She wasn't thinking clearly at all.

"It's just harmless fun, a little magic while kids are young."

Laughing bitterly, she recognized the unique skill set that had enabled her parents to engage in their moonlit clandestine excursions wherein they variously broke into banks or smuggled Christmas trees. So much deception. "Then they grow up and find out there's no magic and their parents lied to them. Eventually I got old enough to know that it was Mom and Dad doing it." The tree capers, that is. It would be sixteen more years before she learned about the bank vault break-ins.

"The year they vanished, I figured there wasn't going to be a tree because Mom and Dad always did it and they weren't there. So when I woke up on Christmas morning and saw a tree..."

She broke off, unable to continue, but Booth remembered the part of this story that he'd overheard years ago. Russ had put out presents in a way that made a young Tempe Brennan believe her parents had returned. Gently, Booth asked, "Did Russ put up a tree for you?"

Her nod broke his heart, because he thought it meant she was too moved to speak. But then she did, revealing regret born of a revelation of just how hard it could be to acquire a live Christmas tree. "He did it in the night, just like Dad. Did he go to this much trouble for me?"

A rueful laugh as Booth slid even closer and put a reassuring arm around her. "Probably not _this_ much trouble."

"But what if he did? And I didn't appreciate it, it just made me angry."

Booth knew the rest of this story, also. She was thrown into foster care within a week and Russ left to find a job. True, Brennan refused to speak to her brother for the next fifteen years, but the siblings had a tentative relationship now so the opportunity to mend had not been lost completely. "You were just a kid, Bones. You didn't know, but now that you do, you can call him and say thanks."

No one could do skeptical as well as Brennan. "Eighteen years later?"

"There's no statute of limitations on extending forgiveness, or asking for it."

"I suppose not," she sighed.

"Okay, so I'm seeing that you have a deficiency of experience when it comes to Christmas tree decorating. We'll take care of that right after dinner, all right?" She nodded. The rest of their meal was silent as they fell to polishing their plates and when the dishes were cleared away, he stood and stretched.

"Step one: lights!" Booth reached into a box and pulled out an enormous lump of electric mayhem. Here was one more obstacle to Booth's desired end of a fully decorated Christmas tree. As she watched him dig into the task, Brennan reasoned that it might take another hour for him to correct the many burnt out bulbs and spaghetti tangles complicating this chore, unless she helped.

And she was here to help. (And somehow, in helping him she was also helping herself. It was a marvel of their partnership, the ways in which the aid they rendered to one another so often proved mutual.)

So she picked up the other end and began teasing the knots out. When that was done, together they wrangled the tree lights around the tree in increasing concentric circles, until the whole tree was wreathed in light. Booth plugged it in and a rainbow of color splashed over the room. He glanced over at her with boyish delight. "Time to decorate!"

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** Time to decorate! Now there's nothing standing in their way. Or is there...?


	14. Rule 14: Celebrate w hot buttered rum

**Author's Note:** For those who celebrate it, Happy Valentine's Day! :)

For Caroline in Melbourne, you are not signed in so I can't send you a note. Your reviews have been a delight that I looked forward to reading, you literally made me laugh out loud at times. Thank you!

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #14: Celebrate with hot buttered rum  
_

While he began pulling out ornaments, Brennan slipped into the kitchen and took out a small pot. She dropped in a pat of butter, water, brown sugar (Booth loved it on everything!), a bit of cinnamon and allspice (no nutmeg to be found), and set the pot to a gentle simmer.

"What's that smell?" he hollered from the next room.

"Wait one minute and you'll see," she chuckled. So impatient, like a child.

Turning to the special bottle she'd pilfered earlier from Booth's bar, Brennan poured two fingers of Cpt. Morgan into two mugs, added the hot spices and stirred. The delicious scent drifted ahead of her when she took the cups to Booth.

He took his and sipped, his face lighting brighter than the tree could ever hope to be. "You made hot buttered rum?"

"Yes. You said your grandmother made it while you decorated the tree."

In the span of a few heartbeats his expression changed, went darker somehow. Without a word he took his mug, hers too, and set them both aside. He moved slowly, deliberately, intently, and she watched, puzzled by the intensity. His eyes blazed into hers with something ... she didn't know what ... a fire she'd never seen before burning in the sepia surrounding her. Somehow she could only watch and wonder as the world moved, as Booth moved and surrounded her. When did that happen? He was everywhere.

Then, before she could quite comprehend how she hadn't noticed her own change in position, Booth had drawn her against him and her eyes fell closed. His hot breath fanning her lips, and a crackling sense of him, _so close_. It was excruciating. No ... yes ... he was going to... But then he didn't.

Trapped in an agony of suspended anticipation. They were silent, both frozen and burning hot with awareness.

"Bones," he whispered, the soft brush of rum-scented breath causing her knees to nearly buckle.

She didn't want to open her eyes, she didn't know what to do. A tiny whimper burbled out of her strangled throat because she _needed_ him to do something that would end this exquisite torture.

His voice struck her like lightning.

"I kissed you at the campfire because it's tradition for people in love to kiss each other."

Shock popped her eyes open but then blistering heat slammed them closed again. His lips, his mouth, his love licking into her like flames.

Fiery sweet, spicy rum and heat, hot consumption, burning combustion.

She groaned, he growled, and his hands that had cut and dragged a tree now soothed themselves in the gentle chestnut tangle of her hair, on the silky plain of her abruptly bared back when he pulled her shirt loose. Her palms that were blistered brushed over his velvety nape and measured the curvature of his shoulders. Then he wasn't just kissing her mouth; he was blazing trails against her cheek, her jaw, her neck, against any skin that wasn't covered in cloth. They both coiled and strained to get even closer until Booth pulled his mouth away from her with a great, gulping gasp and a desperate grab for self control. As for Brennan, she slipped to the floor in a boneless heap. Multitasking such a mundane thing as standing while still in the aftershocks of Boothy bliss...? Not going to happen.

She fell backwards, breathing hard, smelling fir resin and staring up into the Technicolor dance of lights on the ceiling. Booth flopped down beside her, but then his hand found hers and squeezed, and the explosions of awareness were triggered all over again. She squeezed her eyes closed, feeling herself on sensory overload because Booth was whispering to her again.

"You're not going to argue with me?" A teasing brush of his nose against hers, and then another steamy freight train of kisses and she was absolutely drowning in Booth.

Couldn't think.

What was he doing to her?

It was probably an act of mercy when he finally pulled away and rested beside her. Beyond the riot of her senses, Brennan's battle to order her thoughts was waged internally, spurred on by her desire to recover just enough to understand his question, but her defeat had already been ensured by his total commandeering of her consciousness. Even with her eyes closed she only managed to mutter, "About what?"

"That we're in love."

"We are?" She wondered how he could be so certain. Indeed, she wondered how it was that stringing two words together just now posed such a challenge, while Booth was effortlessly uttering complete and grammatically correct sentences.

"I've been in love with you for a long time," he confessed into the palm of her hand, his lips tracing warm arcs over the blisters she'd earned for him. "And you're in love with me." Each word was punctuated with a caress against one of the blisters, as if each one gave evidence of something, but the final argument he left for last. "This whole crappy day ending with you making me hot buttered rum instead of kicking my ass proves it."

"It does?"

"It does," he murmured drowsily.

The lights were blinking overhead, Booth's fingers gently playing with hers where their hands had tangled together. She closed her eyes, warmed all the way through and blissfully content beside the only man she would ever be willing to go through such hell for. For Booth she would do anything ... and maybe that was love.

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** And now it's time for a special Valentine's surprise ... one more chapter will post tomorrow. You know why? Because they didn't decorate the tree yet!


	15. Rule 15: Pass on the tradition

**Author's Note:** Now that we are at the end, I will confess to the following elaborations:  
1) There was no mistletoe (it doesn't grow in my state).  
2) There was no traffic jam. We lived in the OUTBACK of outer Mongolia (so to speak), where traffic jams consisted of John Deere drag races and lazy livestock. :P  
3) There was no romance (it was a family outing).

However, every other setback that came up in this story really happened one year. What I learned from that misadventure is how to keep going no matter what the challenge, how to make hot buttered rum, and how to look for a silver lining on every dark cloud that comes along.

Hopefully this story was the silver lining on Razztazztic's dark cloud.

* * *

**The Care and Keeping of Christmas Trees**

* * *

_Rule #15: Pass on the tradition_

"And then what happened?"

"We fell asleep."

"On purpose?!" This shocked utterance, coming as it did from someone who was quite adverse to sleeping when other, more enjoyable activities were in the offing, made Brennan blush.

"Well, we were extremely tired, what with all the difficulty in obtaining the tree."

It was true. While they sprawled silently together under the tree, awareness had slipped away and when her eyes had opened once more to the rainbow lights twinkling above her, she distinctly sensed the passage of an unspecified span of time. And though she should have been cold and stiff (from sleeping on the floor), instead she felt warm and surrounded and safe, tucked up against Booth's large body (which provided a quite remarkable and reliable source of heat).

He'd awakened a moment later, and they both sat up, awkwardness evaporating into shy grins as kissing came back into their collective consciousness. Almost in unison, they leaned together in mutual acceptance of this thing that had changed between them, letting their lips erase the lines that had held them apart. It was magnetic, her mouth pulled to his involuntarily because opposite charges attract and being this close to Booth had always amounted to being inside his electric field.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips. "Bones, baby, you're it for me."

His urgency thundered through her, his words that should have been terrifying only causing an acceleration of the force robbing her of the powers of articulation. There was only one word for these feelings, for this power, only one idea that could express all the things she could not say.

A plea, a declaration, a surrender: "Booth..."

Electric shock.

How quickly it could overwhelm them, the energy sizzling between them sparking a cascade of chemical reactions: neurotransmitters firing across synapses, pleasure and euphoria flooding, (ensuring continuation of the species) but for once, she didn't allow such rational thoughts to distract her from the sensations.

Purely pleasurable sensations.

His lips warm and soft, painting shivers and sighs on her. His hard, white teeth clicking against hers when he returned his opened his mouth to hers and delved inside; his taste that still hinted at cinnamon and rum. His hands pulling her down against his hard body, those sculpted muscles welcoming her weight. The gruff, guttural grunt rumbling into her mouth when her fingers scratched across one of his nipples. She liked the way he felt and sounded so much that she did it again. A rapid shift of balance swirled in her semi-circular canals, alerting her to the reality that Booth had flipped her onto her back and he was covering her and within moments she wasn't thinking anymore. She wasn't cataloging anything. She wasn't capable and yet she also wasn't afraid.

It was bliss merely to exist in a state of union with Booth.

~Q~

So they didn't decorate the tree that night and she would never look at a Christmas tree in quite the same way again. But she couldn't very well admit to the real reason out loud, which was the cause of her uncharacteristic blushing now. Mercifully, Booth was even more reluctant to elaborate on the source of their negligence than she was, considering who they were talking to.

"Hey kiddo, the point is that Bones wanted to follow the Booth family tradition, so she suggested we wait until tonight. That way we can all decorate the tree together, as a family."

Parker Booth turned a thrilled smile her way. He'd been surprised by her arrival an hour ago on this Friday night with his dad, so shortly after being overjoyed to find a tree waiting for decorations (because that is the very best part). Most of all, he'd been enthralled by the unbelievable story of how it got there and why it wasn't decorated yet. "Really? You're gonna decorate the tree with us?"

"Well, actually, I was hoping you could teach me how," she hedged. "I've never done it before."

Eyes wide, the little boy had instantly transformed into the epitome of astonishment and Boothy sorrow over this unforgivable oversight on the part of her parents. "Why not," he gasped, clearly outraged on her behalf. No wonder she didn't like Christmas, if she never got to do the fun stuff...

A lump formed in her throat just then, because she was starting to understand how Booth could be so sure about actions as a proof of love. For all his faults, Max had given his children the selfless gift of a hard-won Christmas tree every Christmas morning, never taking any credit for the magic that appeared in their living room year after year. Now she knew the labor of love that he had hidden in a myth, the same myth Booth believed in. "Well, my parents set up our Christmas tree on Christmas Eve after my brother and I went to bed, and said that Santa Claus brought it."

Parker frowned, his brow furrowing in serious consideration of this novel approach and after a moment of deliberation he firmly shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense."

Surprised by this pronouncement, Booth asked, "Why not, Parks?"

The young boy, ever so much wiser than his years, rolled his eyes in exasperation. Grownups could be so silly sometimes. "How would a Christmas tree fit through a chimney?"

~Q~

* * *

**The End**


End file.
